it’s 6:30 in the morning when i wake up. i slowly climb out of bed, careful not to hit myself on anything. i fumble around for something to pull on. i find a pair of running shorts, a baggy t-shirt, and a pair of socks. get dressed without turning on the light.
i reach into the dresser drawer and feel around at the back for the bottles. i twist the caps off, pour the pills into my hand, and swallow. i wash them down with the glass of water on my night stand.
i head to the kitchen as i tie my hair into a ponytail.
mom and dad aren’t up yet.
i open the fridge and take out the plastic container. i count four blueberries into the palm of my hand and shove the container back in the fridge.
i swallow the berries, put on my sneakers and walk outside.
i run. i run even though i feel like collapsing. i’m so tired.
but i run. i have to run. i can’t not run.
i run even though my muscles and bones scream. my heart beats in my throat. i hear my blood in my ears.
hunger rips through me. my stomach growls. i’m starving.
good girl, jill, i tell myself. good girl.
a truck is coming. then another. i wonder if i would feel anything if i jumped in front of it.
do it, jill. just do it. then it will be over.
three hours later, i’m home.
i go straight to the bathroom. i know mom follows me, but she doesn’t know i know. she has started waiting outside the bathroom door. she’s afraid I’ll fall. she’s afraid…
i close the door behind me. i take off my clothes and i run the water.
i catch a glimpse of myself. skin draped over bones. i look older than 25.
i’m aware of my heart rate.
i’m weak. light headed.
i do not feel well.
i want to lie on the bath mat and just be done.
i put a towel around myself and i step into the shower. i sit under the water.
i sit under the water and as the steam fills the room i call out to my mother.
and she comes in. and saves my life.